The Wounded Ones
by hellohades
Summary: Sequel to "The Wild/Wicked/Woeful Ones" Series. Stiles comes home from break. All hell breaks lose.
1. Untouchables

**The Wounded Ones  
**_Untouchable_

_**"If you're losing your soul and you know it, then you've still got a soul left to lose."  
**_-_Charles Bukowski_

* * *

"Stiles."

The Sherriff is at the Stilinski house when Stiles drives his rent-a-car up and hops out with a huge smile on his face as he slams into his father's chest. Sherriff brings his boy into a tight, backslapping hug, holding him closer than was probably humanly possible.

Stiles holds back a desperate sob as the listens to the sound of his father's excited breathing against his neck and ear. He closes his eyes, fingers curling around the collar of the Sherriff's uniform, clingingly tightly, desperately. There's a ball in his throat, growing steadily and threatening to choke off his airway as he thinks about all he's missed back home—his father, mainly, the anniversary of his mother's death, every meal his father's probably gone out to eat, and finally, everything revolving around Derek.

Stiles wants to curl up into his father's side and cry like he did when his mother died, but he tries to sound happier as he says; "I've missed you so much, old man."

He wants to tell his dad everything—everything about werewolves, daemons, hunters, kanimas, school, Derek, Matt, the wolfsbane bullets he replaced in his father's standard issue. All of it.

He chokes a little as his dad pulls back to say something, but changes his mind when he sees the stressed red blotches appearing on Stiles' cheeks.

"Son, you okay?" He asks worriedly. He awkwardly pats Stiles' shoulder as a tear slips down his sons' cheek and the boy wipes it away furiously. He'll tell him everything later. Maybe tomorrow. Yeah, tomorrow sounds better.

"Yeah, sorry, just good to be home is all."

Stiles lies.

His dad knows.

"Right. Yeah." The Sherriff clears his throat, his lips thinner than before. He curls his hand around the back of Stiles' neck and leads him towards the house, telling him they'll get his luggage out of the car later. "But for now, come on in, let's get you something to eat."

* * *

The door bell to the Stilinski house rings, and from the text Stiles got half an hour ago, he can only guess that it's Allison and Scott come by to see him finally.

He's going to pickup Lydia at the airport in an hour when her flight lands, so it's good the couple are here to visit (entertain/distract) him for the time being.

Stiles races to the front of the house and throws open the door, expecting a tackling hug from his best friend.

But what he's greeted with is not what he expects.

"Stiles?" Scotts' voice is mid-growl; gravely and caught in the back of his throat, with teeth too big for his mouth and his eyes burning ember and gold and Stiles stares, dumbfounded.

"Scott, what's wrong?" He asks, stepping outside and closes the door behind him, walking towards his best friend anxiously. "Was there an attack?" He whispers, worriedly. "Where's the pack? Is it Derek?" Stiles places a hand on Scott's shoulder, but pulls away when Scott snarls and snaps his jaws at Stiles' hand.

Scott growls at him and Allison is beside her boyfriend, staring at the werewolf like he's gone mad. She lays a hand on Scott's shoulder and gaps at Stiles, her mouth opening and closing, unsure. "I-I don't know what's going on." She mutters softly, pulling Scott away from the front of the house as the Sherriff's footsteps can be heard coming closer to the slightly ajar door.

Stiles turns before his father can reach the thresh hold and hallows; "Just Scott and Allison dad, we'll be back later!" He can see his father's face through the crack.

The Sherriff smirks from within the house, oblivious to the anxiety within Stiles' breastbone as his father shaking his head in amusement. "Be safe." His father says before Stiles is slamming the door shut behind him and turning back towards the couple.

Scott rips himself away from Allison and charges at Stiles, grabbing him by the front of the shirt and dragging him up against the front door with a loud bang.

The Sherriff yells for the boys to leave before they break his house, and Stiles shouts back a muffled apology, nails digging into Scott's wrists and hands at the same time. "Scott!" He hisses, "Scott it's me, Stiles! Your best bud, come on dude." His voice breaks for a moment, his eyes wide and terrified.

What the fuck is going on with everyone lately?

Scott is growling at Stiles like he's the enemy, fueled by hatred and disgust and it hits Stiles' square in the chest. "I know it's you, Stiles, but you smell like something else and my wolf doesn't like it." Scott grounds out, his teeth still too big for his mouth.

He brings Stiles closer, sniffs at his neck eagerly, at a faint love bite left by Matt that Stiles knows is there, that he tries desperately to ignore every hour of the day. Scott roils against him and hisses, chest vibrating as he springing back and dropping his clawed hand away. "You smell like another wolf." Scott hisses, or snarls, depending on how you classified it.

Stiles gaps at him for a moment, his mouth tasting sour and his throat dry. Another wolf? Stiles grips the sides oh his head and breathes deeply, muttering; "no no no no no."

It's unlikely Stiles would have been around another wolf and not known it, but then again… Stiles held back a sob, cutting it off before it can even fully develop. He bends at the waist and puts his hands on his knees, breathing deeply.

Matt had been so familiar, even as a stranger. Stiles knew why, knew right away why Matt was so familiar, but he'd chosen to ignore it—clinging to a shred of _Derek_ he thought he could hold onto.

Why was this his life? Why couldn't he have nice things?

For Scott to freak out like this, Stiles already knew his answer—and he had tried for so long to ignore the signs.

"Screw you, Scott." He breathes, the bitterness bleeding out over his words. "I haven't been around anything supernatural until i_you_/i showed up."

Scott knew he was lying, his brows curling down, framing his ember eyes. "Apparently you have, and he's been all over you. Who have you been with?" Scott's voice is still distorted but Stiles doesn't care.

Allison whimpers beside them, fidgeting nervously. "Guys," she mutters, a weak warning to her natural-girlfriend-abilities.

Stiles shoves Scott away with a frustrated noise and walks down his driveway with his hands shoved deep in his pockets. Screw hanging out with Scott then, he'll just go pick up Lydia early. She likes him more anyways.

"I already lost Derek, Scott. I'm not losing you to this too." He murmurs, clicking the unlocking button to the car. He misses his Jeep, misses the wind against his face as he drives, misses the smell of sun baked rocks and wet dirt and pine.

"What do you mean you lost Derek?" Scott asks, sorrowfully, suddenly right behind Stiles.

Stiles spins on his heels and glares back at the teen wolf. "Are you joking, Scott?" He asks, and it's painful, like Stiles had become this newly exposed nerve within a few months. He can hear his heart beat in his ears and he's sure Scott can hear it fluttering frantically from two feet away. "I haven't heard from Derek for I don't even know how long, Scott! Derek's gone. He doesn't want me, and I'm not losing you over this stupid shit too." His voice breaks, and he shoves Scott away again, ignoring the hurt puppy-dog eyes. "So I'm going before this gets any worse."

Scott looks to Allison and they share a look for a moment then turn back to Stiles, but say nothing.

Stiles shakes his head in defeat, as if he'd been offended by their silence—and in fact, he had. "Fuck it. Fuck everything. Fuck _both_ of you." He growls, hopping into the car and driving away.

He can show up early for Lydia. At least she's a good friend.

He'll freak out about the whole Matt thing later.

* * *

Stiles holds up a sign at the curb for Lydia, a messy, glittery message reading out: _"strawberry blonde bombshell"_ on a white poster board. No one laughs harder than the elderly couples that pass by with their loved ones on the way to spend Christmas with their families.

Ten minutes later, Lydia is crowded into the car in the passenger seat next to Stiles, her luggage taking up the entire backseat.

"Sooo, am I going to meet this Matt guy?" Lydia asks as they zoom down the highway. She's gnawing on her bottom lip, and Stiles knows she's hiding something—had known for a while now that she'd been keeping secrets from him—but he's still angry with Scott, so he doesn't even bother confronting her about any of it.

Stiles tries his best not to scream when Lydia mentions Matt's name, because he's been screaming inside his head since he left Scott on the driveway of his father's house.

"I dunno." He says solemnly, blinking away the burning at the corner of his eyes.

Lydia freezes, her hand going to rest over his on the center console. "I know that voice." She reaches over and turns down the radio till it's almost inaudible. "What happened?"

Stiles knows there's no point in denying it.

"I just—" He breaths, and Lydia sees how it much hurts for him to simply breath, so she makes him pull over to the side of the road for a minute, fearing he might have another full-blown panic attack and kill them both while driving. "I think Matt's a werewolf." He tries, and then he laughs, because isn't that just his life? Isn't that _just_ how everything works out?

Lydia sighs. She'd come to the same conclusion weeks prior, after talking to Derek and Jackson and Isaac. She tells him, but leaves out her conversation with Derek for the moment.

"Does Derek know?" She asks softly, her voice barely above a whisper. She knows Stiles hasn't talked to Derek, but she's still gathering all the information she can.

Her question earns her a bitter, hurt hiccup of laughter than makes Stiles' eyes tear up. "You know I haven't heard from Derek in months, Lydia. Why would he care about me at all now? He got over _this_," he gestures down his body, feeling dirty and angry, "I was just a phase."

"Is that what you think happened?" Lydia asks quietly, looking away. Beacon Hills is so balmy and uncomfortable this time of year, and it makes her think back to when she was running naked in the forest for those few days—she shivers, remembering made it more painful. Stiles probably had a hard time trying _not_ to remember Derek.

Stiles stares at her uneasy expression for a long moment before pulling back out onto the highway, accompanied by a long-suffering sigh as he continues driving towards Lydia's parents house without needing any directions.

"Yes." He answers finally, taking in a long needed breath. "Yeah, that's exactly what happened, because as soon as I got to New York, Derek was practically gone. He wasn't mine anymore, Lydia. I—" He sucks in another breath to quench his burning lungs and quiet his beating, breaking heart, "I lost Derek."

Lydia frowns and stares at her hands, debating with herself on whether or not she should tell Stiles about her conversation with the Alpha. Of course she'd talked to Derek; screamed, yelled, left voicemails, even got a little choked up with him when he told her what he was going to do—and he'd only told her because Lydia had mentioned Stiles calling her crying after he'd gone on a date with Matt and let him stay the night—and Stiles was already broken by then; marked by another Alpha that wasn't Derek anymore.

"You didn't lose him, Stiles." She offers, because Derek made her swear—made her _promise,_ never to tell Stiles _anything_. "He still wants you."

"Liar," Stiles mutters, brokenly. The rest of the drive is silent, and Lydia pretends to ignore the tear that slips down Stiles' cheek and drips to his collarbone.

* * *

Stiles drops Lydia off at her parents house and gives her a half-hearted wave before he drives off, leaving her standing at the curb with all her luggage.

He heads back towards his house when he passes the Preserve, barren and cold and dead in the winter season. It gives him the chills, and makes his heart ache for summertime and lake water and Derek.

He sighs and picks through his pockets till he finds his phone and skims through his contacts, searching for anyone unrelated to the pack or pack-like-business. He only finds once, and though still partially involved, _now_, Danny remains unaware of all the werewolf business, so Stiles dials the number.

The surprised voice that greets him on the other line makes him smile somberly.

"Stiles?"

"Danny, hey, uh, this is awkward for me, especially since we haven't spoken in a while, but yeah, uh, do you wanna hang out?"

Danny is silent on the other line for a moment before breaking out into a full fit of laughter. "Of course, Stiles. I'd love to. Where do you wanna meet?"

Stiles almost forgot how sweet Danny really was—and for a moment, wondered if Danny was attracted to Isaac for the same reason. He grins, coyly, and even though Danny's not next to him to see it, Stiles suddenly has a sinking feeling growing in his gut as he asks; "any places for our kind around here?"

* * *

"Lydia tells me you and Isaac are turning into a thing now." Stiles sips at his soda at the bar counter beside Danny, smiling crookedly.

Danny grins, flashing his fake ID as the bartender passes him some sort of alcoholic beverage that Stiles doesn't even care to put a name to. He rolls his eyes as the bartender places a pink umbrella in the drink and Danny's eyes light up.

He turns back towards the stage, watching the male-stripper grind sensually against a long, steel pole. "Yeah, somethin' like that." Danny answers sheepishly, glancing sideways at Stiles. "Jackson tells me you're seeing someone new? What happened with you and the other one, you know, _not_ your cousin?" Danny chuckles and waggles his eyebrows.

Stiles laughs easily, and it's something he hasn't done in a while. He considers Danny's question, but tries not to make it obvious how much it distresses him to answer. "I'm not sure really." He shrugs, his shoulders sagging. He frowns down at his cola, swirling the ice around in the glass carefully, wondering if Danny would get him something stronger if he asked nicely—and maybe then he could really talk about it, get it all out in the open; drunk and half conscious.

Danny claps him on the back softly, his eyes softer, "don't worry," he says, his voice raising as the music blares louder, "I had those relationships too."

It does make Stiles feel a little better—but only a little. He turns back towards the man on the pole, the one eyeing him up on stage and licking his lips in a black leather speedo and a too tan ass with a hairless body.

Stiles chuckles and leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees while he takes another sip from his soda. The man on stage sways on the spot, his hips rocking to the beat of the songs blasting from the speakers in the dim-lit room, and Stiles smirks. He feels the music lulling him into a sense of serenity, his muscles relaxing beside Danny as his body settles into the barstool, the bass making his worries ebb away slowly as the man on stage reminds him of something lost, something forgotten, deep in the dead, dead woods.

The scent of smoke and pine fills his nose, and Stiles' doesn't even notice the pair of red eyes staring at him from across the room till they're right in his face, blocking his vision.

Danny jumps, toppling a drink onto the counter and Stiles flails desperately, screeching; "Derek?!"


	2. Weightiest Crown

**The Wounded Ones  
**_Weightiest Crown_

_**"You see, I usually find myself among strangers because I drift here and there trying to forget the sad things that happened to me."  
**__-F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby_

* * *

Danny apparently already knew about werewolves, and the fact that Derek is Isaac's Alpha. Stiles wants to ask how that conversation went over, but it's probably best to save that for another time.

Danny skittered away as soon as Derek appeared out of thin-fucking-air and left Stiles to deal with the raging Alpha by himself.

Fucking Danny and all his fucking self.

No, no, Stiles, take that back.

Danny did offer up a small protest when Derek grabbed Stiles by the arm, rather roughly, and hauled him to his feet, shaking him like he were nothing more than a mere rag doll. So Danny was a good friend. But Derek shot that horse in the face when he growled lowly, literally _vibrating the air around them_ and scaring poor Danny half to death. Stiles had never seen all the color drained from someone's face before, but it wasn't a good look on Danny.

So Danny was a good friend. _Was._ Till he left Stiles to die of broken heartedness and embarrassment and shock as the love of his ever-breaking heart stole him away from a motherfucking gay bar. Seriously, fuck his life.

* * *

Stiles isn't exactly sure how it happens—if they drive separately or together or if they just appeared there—but by some miracle, Derek and Stiles are in his room at the Stilinski house.

The Sherriff's gone for the night, working a late shift. Thank God for that. Stiles glares at the Alpha, and the argument begins.

* * *

Derek's shoulders straighten as he takes in a heated breath, speaking very, very lowly. "What's his name, Stiles?" Derek demands, crowding in around Stiles' space and pinning him against his bedroom wall.

Stiles shoves his hands against Derek's broad chest, pushing the Alpha at least an arms length away. Derek moves back easily, but Stiles' palms feel like branding iron against Derek's body. The boys expression registers a certain level of betrayal, and it leaches into Derek's ribcage. It feels poisonous, like cancer, and it's slowly eroding away at his insides. The wolf whines, pawing at Derek's breastbone desperately, fearing something he can't quite put a name to yet.

"If you won't tell me his name, then just tell me _why_ you did it!" Derek's eyes flash red, but Stiles doesn't back down—not after that.

"Oh yeah, okay! How about _no!_" Stiles steps up into Derek's personal bubble, and they're inches away from each other, screaming and red in the face and Stiles can feel the ball growing in his throat. "You're so infuriating, _Derek! _And you're such a fucking _hypocrite!_" The youth screams back, his voice full of disgust and rage as his brows pull together, wrinkling his forehead. "You don't get to be all high and mighty! Why do you even fucking care, huh? You disappeared, you're the one that fucking left!" Stiles jabs a finger into Derek's chest, pushing him farther away. Derek resists the push, but Stiles' hot little digit digs in between his ribs, making them ache and burn.

"I may have put a physical distance between us, but at least I _tried_ Derek, for two whole months I held out, waiting for you, and where were you then, huh?!" Stiles' hands ball into tight fists down at his sides, white knuckles and strained veins and tense muscles. He looks ready to spring on Derek at any moment, and the wolf, well, the wolf lets lose a high-pitched whine. _Mine,_ it begs, pleads, staring straight at Stiles, _love,_ it calls.

Derek growls, eyes still a brilliant, blood red, but he stays silent.

"You're such a _jackass!_" Stiles shoves him again, harder this time, pushing the Alpha farther away—putting the distance back between them.

Derek's nostrils flair at the hot hands at his chest, at the disgust lingering in the youths eyes—he never wanted Stiles to look at him that way—and something within him snaps, breaking away from where it had settled when Stiles was _his_.

"I didn't leave you!" Derek snarls, his voice slightly distorted and uneven. "I love you."

There's a silence. A terrifyingly, excruciatingly long, silent. A cricket chirps. A moth flutters by outside. A robber breaks into a house and gets arrested walking out. A baby cries and then is lulled back to sleep by its mother's voice. A movie ends. A song ends. A life ends.

Stiles laughs bitterly, biting the inside of his cheeks. The guilt pools around his lower abdomen, settling deep in his stomach and becoming rather weightiest there. The prickling at his eyes intensifies, but he won't let it consume him.

"That's bullshit and you know it. You couldn't love me if you _tried_, Derek Hale." He avoids eye contact with the Alpha, and Derek can see right past that in an instant. Stiles knows Derek is telling the truth without even having werewolf hearing to decipher his heartbeat.

His voice is soft then, airy, like freedom—and it's almost like Derek's coming home, walking through a threshold he didn't even know was there in the first place. "You don't call, you don't text, you don't write, you ignore me for months on end, for what?" Stiles shrugs dramatically, trying to prove a point, "I've been away for _months,_ Derek, so where were you?" He stares at the older man and his eyes burn and prickle at the edges, threatening to spill angry, defiant tears.

Derek doesn't move, doesn't give Stiles the satisfaction of a simple answer.

"What the hell was I supposed to think other than—" Stiles pauses, tasting his words before he spits them out. They feel wrong and forced, like "—than you didn't—_l__ove_—me anymore?" He looks past Derek, a blush creeping up his neck and across the bridge of his nose as he tries to see through the Alpha this time. The shame and blind guilt boil vengefully within Stiles' abdomen, turning instantly into something akin to heartburn.

It was odd, being back home—being in his room, in Derek's presence, near his bed that probably doesn't even smell like them anymore. His room wasn't even his room anymore. It still contained his old bed, his old desk and a few of his old posters were still tacked up, but it wasn't _Stiles'_ room anymore. It was just a spare room, void of anything remotely Stiles-like, or Derek-smelling. It lacked the energy and vivid imagination that made up Stiles' everyday life.

Derek whispers back a reply, but Stiles wasn't listening till Derek's hand stealthily crept around Stiles' slender throat, forcing his jaw up to make eye contact. The boy doesn't pull away, doesn't even look threatened as Derek forces him back against the wall. The position would have been more intimate, had Stiles not been slowly losing the fight of 'who can stay angrier longer?'

But, again, Derek shoots that horse in the face with his next question.

His nostrils flair, taking in the residual offensive scent of Matt lingering in Stiles pores. "Who have you been _fucking,_ Stiles?" Derek hisses, and his voice is pure venom, dripping violently to the ground and burn holes in the floorboards around Stiles' feet.

The Alpha's eyes flicker a dangerous shade of red again, glaring at the invisible mark on Stiles' shoulder. The shoulder Stiles knows holds Derek's mark; the shoulder Derek licked on their one/last night together. The thought sends a chill down Stiles' spine, the memory a haunting reminder of home and dead Kings.

It's the same shoulder that now contains another wolf's mark, and Stiles i_knows/_i the betrayal lingering in Derek's eyes is because of his decisions, and Stiles _knows_ his decisions, however wrong they may have been, resulted in why Derek is healthy, why he isn't fading or—Stiles loathes to think it—_dying_.

Stiles slaps him, his expression deceiving but for only a moment.

Derek blinks out of surprise, eyes bleeding red, then green, then red again. His fingers extend out into claws and grip at Stiles' neck, digging small gullies into his delicate skin. "Tell me," the wolf growls low, its chest vibrating in Derek's body, rumbling against Stiles' chest.

Stiles stays silent, letting the sensation of Derek so near, so close, bring him back home. Derek's chest pulsating against his—the familiar sensation of the man's chest, pressed up against him as it rumbles and rattles and vibrates against his breastbone becomes something Stiles had committed to memory a long time ago. The wolves, Stiles realizes, growling within their hosts bodies.

Stiles wants to scream.

And oh, didn't he _just_ talk to Lydia about this? Of course it's Matt. _Of course it's always been Matt._ Matt, with the rumbling chest that Stiles liked so much. Matt, with the eyes that weren't supposed to flicker in the darkness, but do. Matt, who isn't supposed to be the other werewolf, but is. Matt, whose mark now taints Stiles' shoulder. Matt, who staked a claim on Stiles, replacing Derek. Matt, who gave Derek back his life.

Derek's red, livid eyes speak volumes over Stiles glistening orbs. A wet choking sound comes from the back of Stiles throat before he realizes he's crying, and then there's nothing left to make him stop.

Derek shifts, his eyes bleeding away from red to clear, crystal green. He snatches his hand away from Stiles' neck like the boys skin in acid and he cringes as Stiles slips down the wall to his knees, as if they were made of jelly. He bows his head into his hands and weeps, shoulders shaking.

"Matt replaced your mark." Stile says, not even bothering to look up for confirmation. Derek is silent, but his eyes flicker to the boy's shoulder, to the symbol that isn't his anymore.

"That's why you stopped dying, right?" And his voice broke, lifeless. "Because Matt claimed me as his mate." Stiles groaned, rubbing vigorously at his eyes, trying to make them sink further into his sockets. "I became Matt's mate, without even realizing it, Derek. I don't," his throat tightens, "I don't want this."

Stiles looks up. Derek sees Stiles then—really _sees_ him, with his eyes so dark they seem almost blind, except that they're staring at _Derek_, and they really see him for everything he is and isn't. Stiles looks away, hurt flashing across his face before he looks back up again. "What do we do now, Derek?"

But Derek is already gone.


	3. Adapt

**The Wounded Ones  
**_Adapt_

"_**I remember awakening one morning and finding everything smeared with the color of forgotten love."  
**_-_Charles Bukowski_

* * *

_"Derek Hale, are you kidding me right now. Did you really just not pick up your phone when I called? If you don't answer this phone right fucking now, I'm going to blow up your voicemail, then your email, then your inbox, then, if I can't get ahold of you, I'm going to call every member of your crappy little pack until they can't handle it anymore,_ then! _Then I'm going to force one of them to get you to answer your stupid phone. Answer your phone, Derek! I'm not kidding! I'm not afraid to come back home and beat your stupid Alpha ass into the ground!"_

* * *

_"Alright look, Jackson already told me everything Derek. So did Isaac. I get it, you're pissed off and angry and scared and whatever else. I get it, I do, and what Stiles' did wasn't, well, it wasn't—it wasn't right... But you've got to know that Stiles hasn't the faintest idea what's going on with you, right? I hope you know he wouldn't have intentionally hurt you, /i_ had you been there for him. i_You should call him, Derek. It would make things better for the both of you. I hope you know he's still holding out for you."_

* * *

"_Seriously? Seriously. You're really starting to piss me off, Derek. How dare you send me straight to voicemail. Do you know what you're doing to him? Do you fucking know, Derek? You're losing Stiles. _You're losing him. _Whatever. Obviously he's not important enough anymore. Apparently you don't care about your mate. I don't know what he's waiting for. It's pretty evident he's holding out for something that isn't even there anymore. Did you ever really love him, Derek?_ Did you? _Fine. It's cool. Don't bother calling him and putting him out of his misery. You're not even worth the tears he's already shed."_

* * *

_"Just call me back and explain something to me then. If Stiles got claimed by another Alpha, why aren't you here challenging him for Stiles' hand or whatever? Do you really not care anymore? It's just, I don't understand you sometimes, Derek. Really. You need to get ahold of yourself before I tell him what's really going on. And honestly, I don't think he knows the guy's a werewolf, let alone an Alpha, and if he did know, I'm sure he's just denying it all inside that messed up little genius brain of his—and don't you dare tell him I called him a genius Derek Hale, because I swear to god, I will rip your face off. Anyways, Stiles is probably trying not to think about it. I pretty sure he just thinks you don't love him anymore… We could easily fix this, Derek, if you'd just talk to someone… Be safe, okay? I hope you're well."_

* * *

Lydia sighs into her phone as she stares at the blank screen. It's been hours since she left the last voicemail, and even now, she gets no reply. Nothing. Just—nothing.

That's enough.

She can't do this anymore. She glances up into the screen of her computer, at the solemn, blank face gazing back at her. Stiles chews at his bottom lip, tapping the end of his pen on the desk passively as he stares off in space. It's been twenty minutes, and neither of them has said a word to each other.

Lydia begins wondering if Stiles is going through some sort of psychotic break.

Her breath catches for a moment as he suddenly asks; "What time do you need me to pick you up from the airport?"

His pixilated face blurs for a moment as he glances to the side, off screen. Lydia knows Matt's in the room with Stiles, reading a book or playing a video game, but neither of the boys has said a word to each other since Lydia and Stiles have started Skyping.

Lydia realizes how much she misses the old Stiles. The hyper, energetic, spastic, lovesick, head-over-heels-in-love-with-Derek-Hale-Stiles. She sighs, at least the boy staring back at her is starting to _sound _more like the old Stiles, even if his attitude and mannerism aren't the same anymore

But she can learn to adapt.

"I'll be in around 11:30. See you tomorrow, then?" She sounds somewhat anxious, even to herself. Maybe seeing Stiles is as important to her, as it is to Derek. Maybe Derek isn't the only one who misses Stiles.

Stiles grins crookedly back at her, and for a moment, Lydia's heart skips. He rolls his head around on his shoulders and then focuses back on her face, rubbing at the long strands of chocolate brown hair that cling down the length of his ears. His hair has grown out some and he's started gelling the tips to make it more stylish. Lydia will have to fix that when she gets back home, and that makes her smile a little bit more.

"Yeah, see you then, Lyds." His smile is all teeth, and it seems happier—seems real, almost. Almost.

She sighs and it sounds long-suffering. "I miss you," she says, and it's true.

"Miss you too, sunshine. We gunna hang when you get back or you gunna bang your boy all break?" Stiles waggles his eyebrows at her pointedly.

Lydia tries not to laugh, covering her mouth with her hand and hiding her smile. "You're being awfully crass, Stilinski. I'll see you every day if you'd like."

Stiles nods, his grin fading slowly as his hand moves to hover over the close button of his window. Lydia tries not to be disappointed over the short conversation, because at least she's getting bits and pieces of the old Stiles back. But that's enough, for now. Bits and pieces she can fit and glue back together for Stiles' old self.

"I'll be seeing you." His eyes glaze over as Matt comes up behind him and kisses his jawline. Lydia freezes when she catches a small glance of the man's face before he offers a small wave goodbye and disappears off screen once more.

Adapting is so_ very _hard.

"Kay. Bye Stiles." She blows him a kiss and winks, and Stiles sneers back, disappearing behind a curtain of black as the window closes and the call ends.

Lydia picks up her phone and dials Derek's number one more time.

* * *

"What the _f__uck_ are you doing."

"Shit."

"Yeah, I bet."

"I meant to click decline."

"Fuck you."

"Lydia, what—"

"What the _fuck_ are you doing, Derek?"

"What do you—"

"Are you insane?" She crows into the phone, her knuckles going white with the pressure behind her anger. "Derek Hale. Are you trying to kill Stiles? Are you trying to break him?" She seethed, her words haughty and disappointed as her body tenses and trembles in her computer chair. "You're going to get the brunt of my aggression right now. I cannot believe you. Do you even care at all?"

Derek flinches, pulling the phone away from his ear as the woman on the other line fumes. "_He let the kid fuck him, Derek._" The Alpha's breath hitches for a moment as Lydia continues; "do you understand the gravity of this situation?" Derek's gut twists so violently at the previous statement that he has to hold back a scream.

His wolf, though, is silent within his head.

Lydia sighs when Derek doesn't respond after a moment. She whips a hand over her forehead and rubs at her temple with closed eyes. "Tell me, Derek," her voice is softer that time, but the accusation lining her previous statement makes the sentiment weaker. "Did you even love him?"

Derek growls deep in his throat. The low frequency of the sound throws Lydia's heartbeat off, making her groan and feel sick waiting for the answer—and she suddenly doesn't want the answer.

"Derek."

"Yes, Lydia, I did—I still do."

"Then _why,_ Derek? Why did you disappear? Why didn't you fight for him!?" She screeches into the receiver, throwing her other hand into the air in exasperation.

The Alpha is silent. He glances over at nothing in particular, but something equally as distracting at the red heads questions.

"He basically gave that boy everything he wanted to give to you. If you sensed something was wrong from the start, why didn't you stop it at least? Why didn't you stop _him_, Derek?"

Derek is quiet on the other end again, and Lydia wants to drag her nails over her face. "You left him hanging, Derek. What is your fucking _problem_?"

"You don't get to speak to me like that, girl." Derek snarls back suddenly, his fingers tightening around the device till his knuckles cry out for freedom from the pressure.

Lydia scoffs, checking her nails for cracked polish. "Oh please, _shut up_, you dick. You abandoned Stiles. I can talk to you however I fucking want." Lydia gets up from her desk and paces around the small apartment she's renting down the street form her university, gathering up pieces of debris and trash and clutter. She needs something to distract her from the empty pit in the bottom of her stomach that just seems to keep expanding.

She glanced at her open suitcase, only half-full of all the clothes she needs to take back to Beacon Hills. She figures she might as well finish packing up while she rings the Alpha's neck. She stomps towards her closet with Derek growling threateningly at her.

"See, you're going to explain to me what's happening in your mind right now, Derek Hale, because I can't get the image of Stiles crying out of my head."

Derek stills, but says nothing. Lydia growls on the other line as she throws a very nice, flowy, pink blouse in the suitcase roughly.

"I don't have to explain myself."

Lydia stalls, sighs, and says in a softer voice; "you promised him you wouldn't leave, Derek."

And that was all it took for the wolf to awaken, howling longingly from within the Alpha's breastbone, calling to its mate—but Stiles can't hear it, and now he never will, because Derek let him go. _Stiles,_ it whines, and Derek wants to beat it back violently, tell it to stop calling for the boy with liquid brown eyes and pale, pale skin.

_No,_ Derek growls threateningly, _he's not ours to keep._

The wolf cries, calling for a boy it knows is miles away, calling for its mate, calling for its broken heart to be mending by slender finger, sporadically placed beauty marks, and pleasantly kiss-swollen lips.

"You left Stiles, Derek, I just don't get it. After you promised you'd still be there when—"

"I gave him an out, Lydia!" Derek screamed, his voice rough and edgy. The wolf whimpers and Derek thinks for a moment it's him making the noises. "I gave him an out. The pack—this werewolf business—it's, it's no place for him. He, he needs to live a normal life, Lydia, away from me, away from this pack. It wasn't, he couldn't have—" he stumbles over his words, his throat dry. "He was never supposed to be my mate, but he wasn't meant to replace me with another Alpha..."

Lydia sounds like she's choking on the other line, but Derek realizes she trying to hold herself together as much as he is. The thought alone forces Derek to sit down as the atmosphere suddenly seems heavier and the gravity of everything comes crashing around his ears.

"But you could've died without him." Her words tumble out too quick for her mouth to register and she stops moving, her body feeling heavy and broken. "You could've die, Derek." She says again, and this time she has to sit down and breathes into her phone.

"Shit," she whimpers. "Shit."

"I know."

"Do you still want him?"

Derek doesn't answer right away. The line is silent for moments, minutes, hours, it seems, before he's releasing a breath he didn't realize he was holding.

"Yes."

"So—this other Alpha, what do we do about him?" Lydia asks hesitantly. She already knows the answer. And she prays she's wrong, prays there's another way.

Isaac pokes his head out of his room, stares down at Derek from his loft space. Derek glowers up at the teenager, eyes flashing red for a moment. Isaac's eyes flash obediently golden, but he doesn't move from his spot. The Alpha knows the boy has been listening in on everything he and Lydia have been talking about—and maybe Isaac is just being supportive, or maybe he's just eavesdropping—and that makes the fire in his heart burn hatefully.

"You don't get to talk to me like this, Lydia. This conversation is over. You're nothing to me. Let it go."

Lydia scoffed. "You mean like you let Stiles go?" She sneered venomously.

Derek is stunned quiet on the other end. Lydia flops back on her bed, staring up at the perfectly white ceiling, satisfied with the silence. "You need to figure out what you're going to do. Stiles and I are coming back home tomorrow." She says in a low voice.

"I already know what I'm going to do." Derek grumbles, but the edge in his voice makes Lydia shiver.

She doesn't want to ask, but then she remembers the devastation in Stiles eyes on the first date with Matt—and she remembers how broken his voice was when he cried. She sees Stiles brown eyes, outlined in red and puffy from lack of sleep and tears that no longer fell.

"What are you gunna do then?" She asks, twiddling with a stand of hair by her lips nervously.

"I'm going to kill the Alpha who claimed my mate."

Lydia gasps. The line goes dead.

* * *

_Hey you, I'll be in town in a few hours! I'm just boarding my plane now. Can't wait to actually meet your dad._

Matt's texts reads a foreboding, unpleasant message and Stiles stares at it till the screen goes dark. His brain feels like it's on autopilot, or like someone left his mind on the snowy-staticy channel on cable. He sighs and scrubs a hand over his face, sliding the phone away from him in something akin to disgust.

Stiles can hear the way his father's feet meet the ground in a determined way, heading straight for Stiles' door. The knob turns slowly, and the door is pushed aside just as easily as the Sheriff stands awkwardly in the threshold. His eyes radiate love, and Stiles basks in the familiar sight of his father's pride.

The Sheriff sits on the corner of Stiles' bed, dressed and ready for a day at work. The teenager sits up and scoots down to the foot of the bed and takes the spot beside his father; and suddenly the overwhelming feeling to tell his father everything from the last three years comes rushing back, taking hold of his throat and choking him viciously.

"Feel good to be home yet, son?" His father asks, timidly, glancing sidelong at Stiles' struggling expression.

Stiles replays the last three years in his head, mentally counting all the lies—all the times Derek's kissed him in his room, all the times he's nearly died—and Stiles' scoffs.

"Yeah," he lies.

The Sheriff knows it's a lie. He bows his head and frowns as he stands and places a hand on his sons shoulder, smiling sadly. "I know something happened that you're not ready to tell me about. But just know, I'll be home for dinner."

"You're getting a salad."

"Wouldn't have it any other way."

Stiles knows it's a lie.


	4. Vanillian

**The Wounded Ones  
**_Vanillian_

_**"The moon lives in the lining of your skin."  
**__-Pablo Neruda_

* * *

The day started off just fine. Really. It truly, one-hundred-and-ten-percent did.

Stiles says goodbye to the Sheriff as he stalks off towards his patrol car and heads to work for a torturous double shift, and then Stiles went back upstairs to shower and dress. He styled his hair and grabbed his keys to his rental and headed outside for a day of errand running and possibly apologizing to Danny, maybe take Lydia out for an 'I'm-sorry-I-dumped-you-at-the-curb' breakfast—only to be greeted by an innocent looking Isaac, leaning carefully against his rental car.

Stiles stalled, and felt the hiccup in his heart as Isaac's eyes locked on his. "Oh, _fuck me._" Stiles turned on his heels and headed back inside the house without a second thought.

"No—wait—Stiles, I uh, wait!" Isaac was hot on his heels, following him up to the entrance and catching the door before it slammed shut in his face. Stiles used all his body weight to keep the door were it was and continued pushing up against the back of the door. It at least prevented Isaac from making his way inside the house entirely, if not momentarily. For a moment, Stiles wished the werewolf at his door was a vampire he could just _deny_ entrance to.

"Stiles," the boy called softly, pushing back against the door ever so gently as Stiles struggled to keep it shut. "Come on Stiles, let me in." Isaac pleaded.

"No! God, no! Go away, Isaac!" Stiles cried through the crack of the door, shoving his shoulder into the wood and regretting it instantly as a sharp pang ran up the length of his arm.

Isaac sighed, grumbling something under his breath that sounded like "Derek'll have my ass if you get hurt trying to keep me out of your house," and then he pushed the door open with one hand easily and grabbed Stiles shoulder instantly. Stiles sputtered at Isaac, before the throbbing in Stiles muscles drained away, and for a moment, Stiles was thankful. Then he snapped to his senses and batted Isaac's hand away, despite the pain that morphed back into his deltoid.

"What do you want?" Stiles snarled, walking away and rubbing his shoulder gently. He wondered briefly if chopping Isaac's hand off and using the disembodied limb would still have the same wolfie-pain-relieving-effects, but then he pushed the thought away as he turned and glared at the offending werewolf. "Well?" He asked, his eyes wide for effect.

Isaac sighed, long-sufferingly. "Originally I just came to visit and say hi and tell you how much I missed you, but now I see I need to do more than that." Isaac smiled sweetly, and Stiles grumbled, looking away. "Scott told me what happened yesterday," he continued in a softer voice. "Danny, too."

Stiles scoffed.

Isaac glared at him. "Look, I'm sorry about Derek, okay? He just," Isaac shrugged, looking to his toes for comfort. They obviously provided little. "He just missed you is all."

Stiles tried to make his laughter sound less bitter, but it came bubbling forth like a vicious volcano. Isaac winced. "_Derek_ missed _me_?" Stiles sneered, unamused, "that's rich, Isaac, really, even for you."

Isaac scowled, and then he was in Stiles' personal space within a blink of an eye, causing Stiles to flail about nervously. "He did, Stiles. He missed you, more than you know. I know what's going on, and I know you do too. I'm here to help you, so stop being stubborn for just a second so I can hel—"

"No! Just, stop. Stop, Isaac, I can't." Stiles shoved the Beta's chest gently, pushing him away despite Isaac's hurt expression. "You got Danny. Lydia's got Jackson. Scott and Allison are good again. That's all I can ask for." He takes a deep breath and looks away, rubbing his hands over his arms nervously, picking at his skin like it could distract him enough. He sighs before glancing up at Isaac mournfully. "Derek is just Derek, Isaac. And I'm just Stiles." He shrugs, crossing his arms over his chest. "I've got another werewolf problem to deal with and it doesn't involve the pack—"

"Is does involve the pack, Stiles! This boy you're seeing, he's a werewolf, and you know what he did?" Isaac's eyes flashed a beautiful shade of gold before flickering back to their normal bluish-hue. Stiles tried to look away but Isaac cupped his chin and forced his attention back to center. "He marked _my_ Alpha's mate, Stiles, that's _you_. This _i__s_ pack business." Isaac poked Stiles' chest for emphasis before bringing him into a tight, bone-crushing hug, regardless of Stiles muffled protests.

Isaac leaned his check into Stiles forehead and grinned sincerely. "Whether you like it or not, got it?" He added in a softer, friendly whisper.

Stiles' eyes were blown wide in surprise and he couldn't seem to find the air supply to breathe or respond anyways.

"He missed you, Stiles."

Stiles hesitantly put his arms around Isaac's middle, burying his face deeper into the other boy's collar bone. He sighed, "I missed him too."

* * *

_Stiiiiiles~ I'll be landing at Beacon Hills Inner City Airport in four hours, okay? See you soon._

Stiles glanced at his phone and his breath caught in his throat. Isaac was reading over his shoulder instantly, a deep frown set on his face for the first time since he walked into the Stilinski household.

He turned to look at Isaac, but the curly haired youth was just staring menacingly at the phone in Stiles' hand. Stiles didn't like the way Isaac whined, as if he were agitated, before he looked back at Stiles expectantly.

Stiles swallowed. "Before… Before we go talk to Derek, would you—" Stiles had to catch his breath before he passed out, or swallows his tongue, "would you come with me?"

Isaac leaned his chin onto Stiles' shoulder, rubbing his cheek against the humans greedily. "Of course." He muttered, and Stiles knew Isaac was attempting to scent-mark him without trying to be too conspicuous.

Stiles swallowed hard once more, leaning into Isaac for support. He really missed the scent marking anyways. "Kay." He nodded, throwing his phone across the coffee table, if only to get it out of his hands.

* * *

"Hey babe!" Matt runs to him from the terminal, his arms wide as his duffle bag clatters to the ground mere feet away from Stiles' feet. But then, Matt spots Isaac, sniffs, and glares. His eyes flash red involuntarily, and then he steps back and shields his face from Stiles knowing, heated glare.

But from Stiles' ridged expression, Matt knows he's been had, and Stiles has already seen all he needs. Matt can smell the betrayal and anger rolling off of Stiles like a tidal wave and it makes him gag for only a moment.

Stiles deflates and sighs, turning and walking away with Isaac hot on his heels. "Yeah, I thought so." He mutters under his breath, but he knows Matt can hear him—knows Matt always has heard him. "Just stay away from me, for lie, ever, got it Matt?" He heads for the exit, his hands deep in his pocket as he searches for his keys.

"Stiles! Stiles wait! Let me explain!" And then Matt's there, right beside Stiles, walking and keeping pace. Isaac snarls at him, pulling Stiles away by a grip far too tight on his bicep. Matt glares at the Beta, but doesn't challenge him then. He knows better. Knows this isn't his territory. "Stiles, please?" He begs, but Stiles just turns away and shrugs him off with a cold shoulder.

"I can't believe you hid this from me for so long. And—and oh my God, Matt! You marked me as your mate?! What is wrong with you?!" He spat venomously. He kept his voice low if only to avoid a conflict.

"Look, I knew what I was doing, Stiles!" Matt cringed as Isaac hissed threats at him, warning them both that they were still in the airport and people were starting to look. "Stiles—Stiles, stop and listen to me!"

"No!" The human screamed. Civilians turned to glare at the trio and Isaac laid a hand on Stiles shoulder, whispering; "come on, Stiles, let's go find Derek."

Stiles shook him off, ignoring the hurt look in his eyes when Stiles glowered at Matt. "Just tell me why you did it."

Matt mirrored Stiles' glare, his fists taunt at his side before he sighed and looked at his feet. "I know what happens to an Alpha without their claimed mate near them, doll," he started and Stiles flinched away from the pet-name, "so I thought, you know, I could save you both from…" He didn't have to finish the statement before Stiles recoiled into Isaac and hissed.

"You thought, _what_, Matt? You could _help_ by taking the claim _away_? You thought _you_ could be my Alpha, for, oh, just the time being?" Stiles scoffed, shaking his head. His eyes burned and he wanted nothing more than to scream till his lungs gave out, punch Matt square in the face. This was all so wrong—so very, very wrong.

"I just—I thought—I didn't want—Stiles, I love you, okay? I didn't mean to, but it happened, alright?" Matt threw his arms in the air and dropped his duffle bag to his side again, putting his hands on his hips and shrugging his shoulders. "I love you." He says again, and it sounded too forced, but more sincere than Stiles' has ever heard before. "So just stay with me. Don't go back to Derek, please?" He begged, and Stiles halted, his breath caught deep in his chest. His ribs ached with a need for something to cling to, but it wasn't right with Matt—and it was a relationship built on lies.

"Are you really doing a dramatic airport scene for me?" Stiles tried to jest, but Isaac scoffed beside him, and the sound came out a little more wolf-like than was probably intended, and Stiles knew it was time to go.

"Stiles, please." Matt begged, his eyes flashing between hurt and hope.

"I'm sorry." Stiles whispered, and he turned away, ignoring the momentary broken, heavy, feeling of his shattering heart.


	5. Descend

**The Wounded Ones  
**_Descend_

_**"And all I loved, I loved alone."  
**__-Edgar Allen Poe_

* * *

As Lydia stomps her way up the steps of the renewed Hale house, she begins to really appreciate the remodeling process the remaining pieces of the pack seem to have been putting into helping Derek with all the work. Her eyes drift up towards the new rafters nailed into the open wounds of the house, the sun leaking through the pieces of wood like God himself had graced the house with a sense of renewed peace.

She absently wonders how hard it must've been for Derek to buy the deed for the condemned building back from the county, or if he'd just played the pity card of _you know, my whole family died there_ or if the town still thought of him as some weird outcast, ex-suspected murderer that lives on the outskirts of the Preserve. She brushes the thought away with a small smile. Tricky tricky Alpha, he probably even shed a tear.

She thinks it could honestly, really use a touch or two of _Lydia_, but she'll work that into her schedule sometime after this whole _Stiles/Matt/Derek_ drama is over. She huffs, fluffing her hair up and reapplying her lip-gloss as she inspects the porch and doorway.

The elegant arch of the doorframe causes a small shiver to run up her spine as she passes under. The woodcarvings on the frame and the ironically silver door handles and hinges make her smiles softly. She remembers something like them being there when she came out to sell her Girl Scout cookies to the Hales when she was younger. She remembers Mrs. Hale buying her entire stock of Tagalongs for Mr. Hale and Derek ("_because they're boys and they eat like monsters,"_ she'd laughed,) and Lydia still remembers the airiness of her breath as she then bought a few more boxes of Thin Mints and Samoans for Laura and Cora.

The scent of sawdust fills the air and makes her nose itchy, but it's a pleasant enough scent that it didn't bother her too much. Lastly, the delicious shade of rose wood the French doors, and every door in fact, seemed to be made of have her smiling widely before she even thinks to look and see if anyone is actually around.

But then her mind snaps back into action. She pulls open the door and walks inside. Derek is already waiting for her in the front parlor, his arms crossed over his chest and his shoulders hunched over, his skin dotted in red paint and white splotches covered his jeans.

"What do you want?" He asks impatiently.

Lydia frowns. "I'm here to kick your ass." She hums, glancing at her nails passively. Damn, she thinks, catching sight of the small chip of paint at the corner of her index finger. She'll have to reapply polish to the whole thing later.

Derek snarls at her, his eyes flashing red in warning.

Lydia rolled her eyes, unfazed. "Oh please, as if you could take me." She saunters passed him, neatly setting her purse on the table just beyond the kitchen entrance after careful inspection. "Remarkable what you've done with the place."

"Lydia—"

"Really though, could use some more fashionable input."

"Damnit, Lydia—"

"I'll work you into my schedule when I can, but just know it'll cost you. I know you're not paying the others to do this labor but—"

"Lydia, enough!" Derek shouts, his voice echoing into the vastness of the empty house.

Lydia turns her attention to the older man, his eyes still blazingly red, even in the soft afternoon light of Beacon Hills. She pushed her weight into the counter top, crossing her arms over her chest as she shifts her weight.

"What. Do. You. _Want_." He rumbles deep in his chest, a growl caught in his throat that distorts his voice.

Lydia, unfazed, bats her eyes at the Alpha and smirks, running her finger through the dust on the counter top and inspecting the line she leaves behind on the surface. "Stiles is coming to see you."

Derek stills, his mouth slightly open in shock. His eyes fade back to their natural pale green and Lydia can't help but feel a sense of satisfaction.

Lydia pushes off the counter with her hip and strides over to the man. "You'll catch flies that way, you know." She teases softly, reaching over to tap his chin and close his mouth. Derek backs away from her, jerking his jaw from her grasp.

"Now?" He asks, his eyes searching Lydia's for an answer.

Lydia shrugs, her dubious attitude a testament to her vast knowledge of the way Derek _t__icks_. "He's with Isaac. They went to the airport to confront Matt. Apparently is wasn't a very pleasant meeting, but there wasn't much of a scene."

"How—"

"Isaac texted me." Lydia smiles coyly up at the Alpha, patting his cheek. "So," she began, "what are you going to do now?"

Derek stares at her, whether in shock or amazement or _utter horror_, she really isn't certain. A soft whimper escapes his lips before he can stop it.

He's out the door before Lydia can call him back.

* * *

Matt glares at himself in his bathroom mirror. The lights are low and dangerous red eyes stare back from his reflection. "This has to be done," he tells himself.

His wolf whimpered within his chest, crying somberly, heart broken and beaten down. His ribcage is bruised like his tender pride. _Stiles_, it begs brokenly, wrenching a sob from deep within Matt's stomach.

He wasn't even aware he was crying till the soft drip of water reaches his ears as it crashes to the countertop and scatters wildly.

Matt keeps reminding his wolf, if they're going to keep Stiles for themselves, this had to be done. It _has_ to be done, or Stiles will leave them. His wolf sternly agrees.

"He's mine." He growls, eyes flashing red. The werewolves' heckles raises in anticipation and Matt's spine tingles as his stomach does backflips.

His fist collides with the mirror before his eyes can track the transformation of the beast staring back at him in the broken mirror shards.

A roar echoes from the forest, lost in the Preserve as the monster vanishes into the fading light.

* * *

Stiles speeds down the road, his foot nearly stuffed into the asphalt with how hard he's pressing down on his gas peddle. He glances at the speedometer momentarily and prays none of his father's officers are on the road, or he'll be on the receiving end of a felony traffic violation.

"You can let up now!" Isaac screeches from beside him, gripping the oh-shit handles for dear life. His eyes are wide with a sense of panic that doesn't seem fitting on his doll-like-face.

Stiles scoffs. "You're a werewolf and you're afraid of a little speed?" He takes the curve faster than he intends and grips the wheel tighter than he needs to, just in case. But Stiles has navigated these roads bleeding and close to death in the past few years, so he's sure he's got this by now.

Isaac grimaces, "Just because I'm a werewolf doesn't make me indestructible!"

"Close enough." Stiles grins.

"Could you please slow down? He's gunna hear us coming anyways." The Jeep launches over a pothole and Isaac holds his breathe before glaring at the driver, grunting his disapproval with a flash of golden eyes.

Stiles laughs loudly, and it feels like a foreign concept, and he can't wait to be home. The thought strikes him as odd and his brain halts for a second, rethinking. _Home_, he thinks again; _Derek_, his mind supplies warmly.

Isaac smirks as if he has the same thought as Stiles, and eyes flash a shade of honey once more.

The best part of the drive only lasts thirty more seconds, just as they round the last corner and the old Hale house comes into view. Stiles stares at the remodeled home, taking in the progress, and sees Lydia's car parked out front.

"Huh," he thinks softly, pulling back on the gas pedal as they approach. Stiles glances over at Isaac skeptically, and Isaac blushes nervously. "So—" he begins, but Isaac's eyes blow wide as he glances over at Stiles, his eyes darting to Stiles window and back.

He realizes suddenly that Isaac has unbuckled himself and is bracing against Stiles' side, his hand gripping the wheel as he drives them off the road and into a ditch. "What are you—?!"

"Stiles, watch out!" Isaac shouts, eyes flashing gold and his arms curl around Stiles protectively before he's forcefully ejected from the vehicle by a large, blurry, dark figure. A roar that doesn't even sound like it should reaches Stiles ears before he feels any sort of pain.

The rental car rolls three times before something snaps and breaks, and Stiles isn't sure if it's part of his body or part of the vehicle. The thick, coppery taste of blood flows from his lips as his head smacks into the steering wheel and the air bag explodes into his chest.

Darkness falls as Stiles eyes slowly start to flutter open once more, and he realizes he's hanging upside down in his seat and the once-really-spectacular-sports-car has rolled onto it's hood. The air bag has deflated and is lying limp against the cracked and smashed windshield.

Blood drips from his fingertips onto the dark soil, and absently Stiles wonders what it would have been like to swim with dolphins like his mom had done on their trip to the ocean years before she'd passed away. His ribcage hurts, his foot is twisted the wrong way and he can't feel the left side of his body. Stiles' gathers that's probably for the best, even though his head is pounding and he can't form a single coherent thought.

His eyes stutter shut to the sound of Isaac screaming for Derek and Scott, but Stiles can't seem to find the strength to call out to him or move.

The airbag burn on the side of his face is really itchy. Huh. Why does his mouth taste like blood again? What's happening?

A deep growl sounds off to Stiles' right before Isaac begins screaming again, and then it's silent except for the choking, gurgling sound coming from the wrecked car where a boy in a red hoodie looses consciousness once more, and blood drips rhythmically from his fingertips and crashes to the ground and scatters wildly.

And then the wolves descend.


	6. Tarnished

**The Wounded Ones  
**_Tarnished_

_**To fall in love is to create a religion that has a fallible god.  
**_-_Jorge Luis Borges_

* * *

As it turned out, Alpha wolves fight over mates more often then not. Stiles did his research, even contacted a few other packs asking some questions earlier that day while Isaac made himself a sandwich of the things Stiles had banned his father from consuming.

One woman claimed she'd been having an affair with a mated Alpha male, and his mate had _known_ about the affair. When he marked the mistress as his mate and claimed her fully as _his_, it had released the claim he had over his wife, and she left soon after, packing up her things and vanishing into the ether. Some of the pack left with her, disgusted at their Alpha's lack of control, and the voice of the woman on the phone got quiet, clearly lost in the memory.

Stiles understood that, feeling a pang of guilt deep within his gut. She gave him a few more numbers to try, two of which were disconnected.

The third number he tried was an Alpha who claimed to have never heard of such a thing, "_mates are mates for a reason, boy," _he'd seethed into the phone. He called Stiles an idiot and hung up on him before calling back and giving him another number to a pack up in Nevada that had had a similar situation happen to one of its members. "My mate says it's rude to refuse help to other packs." The man grumbles, a hint of affection in his voice. Stiles smiled at that, picturing a giant, burly man and a tiny, sweet woman behind him with an accomplished look on her face.

The Alpha clears his throat and calls him an idiot again and hangs up once more.

Isaac makes a whipping noise and laughs into his hand at Stiles' bewildered expression as he dials the Nevada packs number numbly.

A human member of the Nevada pack assured him that; "of course it happens. Sometimes you don't even know you've been marked." He laughed into the phone at Stiles' silence and Stiles can tell there is a smile on the man's lips. "You didn't know, did you. I mean, when your Alpha marked you?"

"No," Stiles answered simply, miserably. "I found out just before I went off to college and he just, like—"

"Fell off the face of the planet?"

"Exactly!" Stiles shouted, white knuckling the receiver. "Then I got marked by another Alpha who said he'd just been, you know, looking out for his fellow Alpha, but he ended up falling in love with me and I just, I can't." He swallowed hard, "I can't do this. I want Derek back."

The human on the other line hummed thoughtfully, the seconds ticking by like eons in Stiles' mind. "Try, kid. That's all I'm going to be able to telling you. These wolves, they're serial monogamous by nature, if they find something better, or their mate dies, they can and will move on." Stiles sighs and the human on the other lines offers his condolences. "I hope you're not too late."

Stiles gulped and hung up the phone, sighing into his hands. Isaac hesitantly pushed his remaining sandwich towards him with huge, sad eyes.

* * *

Lydia sighs as she examines her nails once more, damning that little chip in the corner of her index finger like it had personally offended her. She reaches for her purse beside her, searching within its depths for a bottle of teal polish she knows she threw in there just for this sort of malfunction.

She doesn't find the bottle.

She steps out onto the porch after much consideration and plenty enough alone time (since Derek still hasn't come back and faced Stiles like he should have), and screams; "Derek, get your ass back here now! I'm tired of this nonsense and I don't have any nail polish!"

Derek glares at her from the tree-line, eyes flashing red, and then he saunters over to her; attitude pathetic and scowling like a child. When did dealing with an immature Alpha become her life? "You good, or you need another break before this happens?" She teases, smirking as he pauses half way to her and looks around.

Derek stiffens, looking towards the road.

Lydia looks up, the steady hum reaching her ears seconds later, and she listens to the purring of the super charged engine of the stupidly awesome sports car Stiles rented from the airport car rental parking lot. "Ugh, so jealous," she mutters, than catches herself in a momentary lapse of judgment as she watches the vehicle round the corner.

But then, between one breath and the next, it all comes to an utterly horrific halt.

Stiles car rounds the corner just as a giant black blur bolts out of the tree-line with a furious roar ripping from its' throat. It smashes into the side of the vehicle, sending it off the road violently.

Lydia screams as her hands fly up to her mouth as she watches the car roll as Isaac is flung from the passenger side of the car by the black blur. The sound of metal tearing and rolling and bending in protest reaches her ears in the same moment Derek cries out for Stiles.

Someone is screaming in pain and then there is silence. Just silence.

Nothing.

The black blur, an Alpha, she realizes, rounds the upside down vehicle, sniffing the piece of metal before bending his head to the driver's side window and huffing.

Derek calls for Stiles once more, and he hasn't moved from his spot. He's paler than normal, sweat sticking to his forehead and beading down his cheek. "Stiles," he calls, his voice desperate, broken.

No one answers back. Lydia reaches for her phone before she realizes she's still screaming, and it won't stop, and Derek is looking at her with wide, horrified eyes. "No," he whispers, looking towards the wreck and running to the car. "Stiles!"

Derek remembers the sounds of those screams from when Jennifer tried to strangle Lydia two summers ago.

The Alpha growls before it starts sprinting, barreling towards Lydia and Derek, foam lacing its feral lips.

Derek wolfs out, meeting the other wolf just steps away from the porch and tackling it to the ground, biting furiously into the creatures neck with a roar that doesn't even sound like his.

"Matt," Lydia gathers, but then Isaac is on his feet, pulling himself away from the wreckage weakly and racing towards Derek and the packless-Alpha.

"Derek!" Isaac roars, flinging himself on top of Matt's body just as Matt swipes a claw across Derek's chest.

The Alpha stumbles back, his coat shining with crimson as the sun begins to sink below the horizon. Isaac screams as Matt's teeth rip into his shoulder, but with a swipe to the creature's eye, Matt is howling in pain and clutching his face tenderly.

Lydia retrieves her phone from her purse, dialing Scott's number. He answers after three tedious rings, sounding out of breath, and she screams into the receiver; "Stiles is in trouble, Matt's here, come to Derek's now!"

She hangs up and dials the police without hesitation, asking for Sheriff Stilinski as soon as the receptionist answers.

* * *

"Sheriff's office," John mutters, autographing some sort of paper one of the deputies pushes into his hands. He sends the Deputy away without another glance.

"Sheriff Stilinski?" The voice on the other side breaks with an unadulterated sob.

Lydia Martin? John sits up, listening to the girl on the other line, and something close to a roaring lion in the background? What the hell is happening?

"Ms. Martin?" His voice hitches an octave, "what's wrong?"

Lydia sobs into the phone, "Stiles is going to die. Come to the old Hale house."

* * *

"Oh man," he groans, his head heavy and the taste of copper thick on his tongue. He tries to open his eyes, but there is a thick streak of blood covering his left eyelid, and damn, it feels swollen and sore all over the left side of his face.

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, finding them cracked and split in several places.

A gurgling sound catches his attention, and as he slowly, painfully, turns his head, he sees Isaac sprawled out on the ground in his Beta form, claws extended and digging into the flesh of a fully transformed Alpha as the beast grips Isaac's neck and holds him to the ground.

Stiles fumbles for his seat belt with his good hand and finds it easily, unclicking and falling into the cracked windshield with a pained shout. Definitely something broken, or a lot of broken, oh god, why did he do that—

The gurgling stops, and Isaac growls and coughs as he sits up, calling for Derek weakly before the beast has its claws into Stiles shoulder, ripping him from the shredded windshield of the rental.

Derek busts through the line of trees, his Alpha form only slightly smaller than the beast that Stiles guesses can only be Matt. They clash, roaring as Matt flings Stiles several feet away effortlessly. Stiles lands with a grunt and a shout, his foot jarring as it lands awkwardly and the left side of his body remains numb and lifeless.

He stares at the waning bits of light scattered throughout the sky and the small, bright dots that are beginning to show through. Or, maybe, that's just his vision fading.

Stiles sighs, the darkness creeping in and the pain seeping away.

"He's _mine_!" One of them screams, and it sounds like Matt, only not, and then there is a whimper, and it sounds like Derek, only not. Isaac is at his side in an instant, cupping Stiles face into his hands.

"Can you move?" He asks, and there's a deep laceration from his collarbone to his hip, and Stiles reaches out to touch it but his fingers are twisted at an odd angle and aren't moving properly and he thinks, _huh_, that's odd that he can't even feel them, and he's pretty sure he should be able to feel them... "Stiles?" Isaac asks, and his voice is hoarse and broken, and his eyes are a pretty golden color, and Stiles wonders if this is what he would see if he stared into the sun with a pair of binoculars.

"Yeah buddy, I could move, maybe," Stiles laughs a breathy laugh, and Isaac frowns, his brows furrowing worriedly. Stiles wheezes, his chest aching and burning with ever inhale.

Matt rips a piece of Derek's flesh from his body and roars, but Derek's fist punches straight through Matt's stomach like a spear.

"You lung is collapsed, try to stay calm, okay?" Isaac mutters, keeping his eyes trained on Stiles' chest and face. He tries to nod, but settles for blinking slowly and smiling weakly, Isaac would get the gist.

A siren sounds in the distance, and Scott comes racing from the tree line and tackles Matt to the ground without so much as a sound. Matt overpowers Scott, flinging him over by Stiles and Isaac and charging after Derek once more.

"Hey buddy!" Stiles cries, and Scott looks over at Stiles laying prone on the ground and his face contorts back into it's human form as he whimpers, and then he's roaring and charging back at Matt.

Derek regains his balance and growls low, his heart racing. "He's mine," Matt warns again, and Derek tenses. "He bares my mark, Hale. He is mine."

At his words, Stiles' shoulder tingles and throbs, and for a moment his entire body feels like it's on fire every time he breathes. When he finally regains his thoughts, Lydia is at his side, cupping his face and her lips are moving, but he can't hear her talking anymore.

Derek hisses a low growl and he shifts his feet, regaining his balance as the Sheriff's cruiser pulls up and he's screaming, and Derek can't tell what he's saying but he knows the voice and he knows the panic wafting off the man.

Matt grins, all teeth and fangs, and then he's running towards the wreckage of the rental and he's tackling Isaac to the ground and flinging him away like a used dish rag.

Lydia is screaming again, and it's almost ear rupturing, before it's cut short.

Matt reaches Stiles before Derek can reach him, and Stiles protests, screams as Derek reaches his side and tackles Matt to the ground, but it's already happened, it's already done.

Derek can smell Stiles blood on Matt's teeth and he knows Stiles was bitten.


End file.
